The most high-maitenence of males in a pack is the Alpha: he who must be obeyed. Men who fit this, without having the natural grace of a wolf or the power to force their diva status becomes quite strange in the boredom. But, if you can submit to your pack's leader, you can easily handle the human equivalent.

"Do you think a lace thong would make my ass look big?" Geoffrey Scythe said this as he dripped gravy down his chin from his French-dipped sandwich. If you gave the man a knife-and-fork meal, he would prissily eat with such mannered details that no flaw could be found, but give him a damn sandwich and you'd think he was never taught table manners.

That's why he never ate finger food in front of clients.

But if it was me, his partner of nearly 30 years, he'd practically pick his nose in front of me. Case in point, why the heck am I hearing about lace thongs, especially on him? "Why Jeff, why?!"

"Madame LaFey is trying to get me to branch out from the bondage sessions, especially if we're going exclusive."

The woman's name was Jenny Irish, had a face that was all chin, but like many Escorts, she was extremely talented. Geoffrey hired her for a lark about 6 years back and became addicted to whatever skills she had--I don't know what they were.

I never tried the woman, or any escort. What was the point in paying for what was thrown at me every day since we made it as a more than modest business? They've acted like we're the most eligible bachelors since we hit about 30, and 25 years later we get the same attention--except now the age range of the women who try is all ages that still have a pulse. The grannies left us alone when we were young and the new young think money, attractive, and 55 is manageable.

Anyway, he's fallen into bad habits with this woman and so now they're just shy of dating. I had no concerns about her wanting his money--you know, the "all hos are greedy hos" mantra? No, she had been planning her retirement for years and hates when he pays for things, now just past their working relationship. Money-wise, she's the type of woman a man dreams of. But considering Geoffrey's dreams, with his weird obsession of trying everything he can on the woman? She's probably is his match made in heaven...or hell.

"Yes, lace thongs makes everyone's ass look big." I vaguely remember replying this way. I tend to answer stupid questions without truly being present. My mind left the conversation not long after the complaint.

See, I had to fire another PA. You know the story:

I somewhat avoid having sex with those that work under me because it complicates things. Since it's all about "the catch", most try for me or fall for me--I don't know what they are tripping over themselves for. I'm not like my partner, as I leave who I am at home. I mean, I must be showing all the personality of a slightly off potato salad while at work.

I think they've been reading too many billionaire romances. That crap is always the same: all the hos come flying out the office being dismissed for being a ho (slept with or not), but the heroine can keep her legs shut long enough to get the boss to chase them. Then they get it on, and whatever hang-ups the man has plays its part in if he will marry her immediately or kick her out for 2, 3 years until he finds out about a baby. Jeez, it's predictable.

Now, some of that is right. There is more fun in chasing a hard to get woman for a man who pursues everything in life with a passion. My latest PA did that.

Stupid girl also got jealous of my most recent arm candy and they got in a cat fight. If I had to choose between the two, of course I'd choose my PA. And I did, at first--got rid of the date. But my assistant then got in an argument with me about my "philandering ways". She ain't my wife, my date, or my chick of convenience. I am not putting up with the fights--that's not what she is paid for.

Oh and reality is not a romance. I've had 3 pregnancy claims--each paternity test failed, thankfully for me, but I'm rich enough to raise a kid without marrying the mother, so this idea that pregnancy will force me to make a family with a woman is crazy.

Now, I'm not against marriage or children. It's just that marriage is for someone to take care of your affairs when you're senile. I'll marry my nurse at 70, leave behind a rich widow. If I make it to 90, then having a child that late in life will be reasonable. I doubt they'll want my cynical ass around for their party years.

It's not that I'm against marrying tomorrow, even. I just don't see a secretary or high maintenance bimbo being the type that will catch my attention.

Geoffrey went on for quite a while about the things they were trying while I let my mind wander.

I've had my fill, though. "Jeff, I don't need to know all this about your sex life. You talk about her like you've been roleplaying bored husband and wife."

"I've proposed 3 times."

Now he had my attention. "What?!"

"She's not wanting to be known as a bought wife--has some romantic notion that a wife shouldn't meet her husband as a high-priced hooker." He sighed as he dabbed his napkin on his face, finally done murdering a good loaf of bread. "It's because she and Ma got into a fight the first time they met."

"You had your hooker meet your mother?!" I barely squeaked this out.

I promise I don't mind the Escort bit, but Geoffrey's mother is a wholly different matter.

"I never intended to! I wouldn't have that woman at my dog's wedding." His voice was almost as squeaky as mine. That's the effect of Brunhilda Mede-Scythe, a woman who lives up to her name. "But you know mother. I've had police escort her from parties and she's back within minutes. Had a restraining order on her a decade back. I give up."

"So, how did Madame handle it?"

"Oh, like one of your dates and your PAs getting into a cat fight." Apparently Geoffrey had kept better track of my affairs than I had his. "By the way, Jenny's got a friend who is applying for your PA, called Alana Dutch. She's all your PA's emotional deficiencies rolled up in 1 ball. Might want to pass that one by."

"I'll keep it in mind, Jeff."

~~~

The rest of my afternoon was tied up in interviews. Those stories where the man is all impulsive are crap.

Geoffrey was right, Alana was a piece of work--I didn't hire her, but I duly expect to find her laid up on my desk, covered in chocolate syrup, before the end of the week--not because I asked, but because she is the type. Not that you could tell by her clothes, she was the most conservatively dressed woman, here.

About 3rd to last came in a woman whose clothing barely fit the definition of secretary. A hair too short, a touch too tight, and you'd think that she was another Alana.

No, this was something else. First off, she came in with credentials. Serious credentials.

"So, you worked for Shilo Akune as a PA?"

"In name only. I actually ran the day-to-day operations as he took over his father's household, and left the key decisions up to him. He didn't trust anyone who worked in management without observation. By the time I left, I was nothing more than an overglorified secretary."

"So, you left him..." I prompted.

"No, I was fired."

"What for?"

"We had a history that predates the job, and his new wife was jealous. Didn't really reconcile with either until this past year." She didn't even bat an eyelash as she stared coldly into my eyes for this conversation. It was slightly creepy.

"Then you worked for Kean Murphy."

"Yes. Shilo's rival paid twice as much but was after a personal insult. Left after 6 months."

"Trouble seems to follow you, Miss Sullivan."

"Mrs. Sullivan."

"Married?"

"Does it matter?"

"Husbands tend to want you home at night."

"I'm widowed. Not that I want to stay anywhere but home." It was as if she was putting me in my place.

"So, you worked for your husband?"

"No, he wanted me home, barefoot and pregnant. It wasn't until after he passed away that I worked for his younger brother as we set out to untangle his business affairs."

I couldn't tell if she meant BUSINESS affairs or business AFFAIRS, so I left that alone. Nothing like bitter ex style issues to make a man-hater out of a woman. "So, why leave after nearly a decade?"

"The brother married and his new wife saw me as competition to her in-laws affections, so once again, I'm the one leaving."

"You've spent your life as the other woman, then?"

"No." I could almost feel the chill wind off this simple word. This was a woman of cold rage--far more dangerous to cross in my experience.